


Mr. and Mrs. Thorne

by hyesoh



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Jealous James Bond, Jealous Q, M/M, Possessive James Bond, Q crossdresses, Q is a Holmes, ScienceBrOT3, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyesoh/pseuds/hyesoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is the unlucky technologically-savvy brunette who was picked to go with James Bond on a mission. The problem? The target is an eccentric man who feels more at ease when dealing with dark-haired women and happily married couples; and Q, now crossdressing as James' wife, has been tense all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. and Mrs. Thorne

“Stop being so tense,” Bond whispered in Q’s ear as the two of them danced a slow waltz across the ballroom floor. “The target is getting suspicious.”

Q barely stopped himself from intentionally stepping on Bond’s expensive and probably bespoke shoes, especially now that he was wearing stilettos that was lethal even before his customization. (For the record, he made the customized stilettos with female double-ohs in mind. He certainly didn’t imagine that he himself would one day be wearing a pair. And while on a mission with James Bloody Bond, too.) “What do you want me to do, grope you?” He felt more than saw Bond’s answering smirk. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry, but Bond’s right,” Eve said grimly through their comms. She was somewhere in the balcony overlooking the ballroom, easily identifiable due to her golden gown. “The man is watching you like a hawk. The two of you are supposed to be all over each other, not on the brink of divorce.”

Q glanced at one of the mirrors on the wall and saw that Eve was right. Shit. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to let this mission fail. Not after he underwent a nightmarish series of measurements, fittings, and styling, and not after walking the marble floors of Hell itself, being civil towards demons in fancy clothes, and pretending to be Bond’s incredibly technologically-savvy woman. He steadfastly didn’t think about all the brunette women in Q-Branch who declined going on this mission/were in cahoots with Eve/volunteered him. Instead, he thought about the charity balls Mummy made him and his two older brothers attend. At least back then, he wore a tux and can eat whatever he likes as long as he doesn’t drink anything alcoholic, insult the guests if they comment on his weight (Mycroft), or insult the guests indiscriminately (Sherlock).

Q looked at Bond in the eye and moved his lips as minimally as possible. “I have a horrible idea that has a 72.4% chance to work, but you have to play along and stay in-character.” He didn’t give Bond a chance to question his calculation or tell him that he was the one not being in-character before sharply asking, “Who is she?”

Bond, thankfully, played along. “Darling?”

“The short-haired blonde woman who looked like she didn’t have a clue how she got from the airport to the hotel.” Bond was indeed talking to someone matching that description the day before, and they were quite chummy, too. Enough to fuel a legitimate wife’s jealousy and explain away Q’s tenseness since earlier.

“She’s a saleslady,” Bond said carefully. Probably a true story. But jealous legitimate wives rarely see reason, if ever.

“Oh, really?” he asked. “What was she selling?”

“Scented candles. I was asking if she had a certain scent in stock.”

Q scoffed. “Do you want to try saying that again? You might sound more believable the second time around.”

“Bernice.”

Q raised his chin defiantly at the mention of his cover name. “Don’t _‘Bernice’_ me, David. I saw the way she was looking at you. If she was indeed selling anything, I don’t think it’s candles.” And Blonde Girl really was looking at Bond like she wanted to climb him like a tree. It vexed him, but only because Bond was supposed to be reading the target’s dossier, not flirting with girls who have more breasts than brains.

Bond sighed and looked genuinely irritated. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“What’s that got to do with any of this?” Q asked. “ Or is changing the subject how you plan on--”

“You smelled like mint chocolate that day.”

Q furrowed his brows. Bond wasn’t actually talking about the first time they met, was he? At the National Gallery as James Bond and Q, and not wherever else as David and Bernice Thorne?

Bond’s lips quirked up. “Do you even remember?”

“Don’t mock me. Of course I do.” He did. Come to think of it, didn’t one of his minions bring him a steaming cup of mint chocolate that day? He remembered liking it, but dismissed buying it in the future, if only to not appear any more hipster-ish than he already did. Besides, Earl Grey is his one true drink. “You looked half-dead, then.”

“I felt half-dead then, too,” Bond said. “Until someone who looked barely legal went art major on me.”

“I did not--”

Bond tightened his grip on Q’s hand. “Tomorrow marks our first anniversary, and the mint-chocolate scented candles are my gift to you.”

Q stared at him, missing a step in the dance which Bond effortlessly saved by executing an impromptu move that looked intentional. “I...what?”

Bond drew him closer until his lips were brushing the lobe of Q’s ear. “It’s okay if you don’t have an anniversary gift for me,” he said in a low voice. Q found himself gripping Bond’s arms as his knees weakened. “I’m sure you’ll make up for it.” One of Bond’s hands moved downward until it was cupping Q’s ass. “Won’t you?”

Q didn’t have to fake the shudder that went through him. “I--” He gulped and firmly told himself that the two of them were being David and Bernice right now, not James and Q. He leaned back out slightly and reached for Bond’s jaw. Bond was staring at him, pupils dilated. They seemed to have stopped dancing. Q ran a gloved thumb over Bond’s bottom lip and purred, “I hope you don’t have any plans until next week.”

Bond’s eyes actually darkened even more. “I’ll cancel everything.”

Q didn’t know who moved first, but they were suddenly kissing. And not chastely either. At that moment, he didn’t care. That his hair was styled, and that he was wearing make-up, weaponized stilettos, and a floor-length gown that covered up the fact that he had no hips or breasts to boast of, but hinted at the smooth white skin of his back, his long neck, and his willowy form. He didn’t care that he was snogging a double-oh as if his life depended on it, or that Eve and the target was watching, or that Bond’s gun was poking his hip.

Someone behind him coughed. Bond’s hold on Q’s waist tightened, but he leaned away after a final peck on Q’s lips. Q, for the most part, just narrowly avoided whining and turned murderously towards the person who interrupted.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thorne,” their target said in a heavily accented voice. He looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry, but the time for dancing is over. May we now discuss the deal?”

“Of course,” Bond said smoothly. “Forgive us. The missus was quite...” He looked at Q and raised his eyebrow.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Q said, emulating Mycroft’s gentle tone that invited no arguments. “David will be more careful when interacting with other women in the future.” Bond smirked and groped his ass shamelessly. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” the target said, now looking at the two of them amiably. “This way, please.” He turned and lead the way towards the empty alcove that, based on the blueprints of the building that Q saw, would lead to a hidden meeting room.

“Just so you know,” Eve’s cheerful voice said in their ears. “That was really hot, and Q-Branch just exploded with feels. Anthea also wants to know if you guys want an extended vacation, seeing as it’s your anniversary and all.”

“Yes, please,” Bond said, before Q could even voice his many protests over his minions, feels (whatever that is), Anthea, extended vacation, and anniversary. “And tell M that short of the apocalypse, the two of us are not to be disturbed.”

Q glanced at the target to make sure he was still facing forward and not eavesdropping before he spoke. “May I remind you that Stark Expo starts this weekend? I have already promised Tony and Bruce that I will be there on opening night.”

He may or may not have heard a growl, but he was pretty sure it didn’t come from him. “Then I guess Stark will have to fetch you from our hotel room himself and invite me as your plus one.”

“Unbelievable,” Eve commented over the sound of Q choking on air. She couldn’t see how Q’s ears had reddened from her position on the balcony, but she could definitely see Bond curl a possessive hand around Q’s hip. “I can’t tell who’s the more jealous one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, darlings! :D


End file.
